Out of Trouble Again
by Morning-Tide
Summary: What if Rameses' son had not walked in and interrupted right when Moses and Rameses were talking during the ninth plague in "Prince of Egypt"?


**Out of Trouble Again**

* * *

"_You were always getting me into trouble!"_

* * *

The wink of blue attracts Rameses' eyes as the ring on his finger catches a dusting of ambient light. He lowers his eyes, staring at the scarab ring. The wink of light disappears, but memories linger as though Khepri had whispered them into his thoughts. Rameses' eyes and countenance soften in the new dusting of remembrances that had flashed in the ring's turquoise glint. The soft tapping of a staff, interrupted by the twin slaps of sandals on stone, whispers from behind him. Moses had followed him, like the loyal brother he had always been in their youth. Despite himself, Rameses allows himself to dwell in his thoughts' palace of remembrances. Even though Moses had always managed to get Rameses into some misdemeanour of one kind or another, he had to admit it: his brother had always rescued him again, no matter what.

"But then…" Rameses chuckles to hide his wistfulness for the way things had been, and turns to face Moses. His fingers brush the surface of the scarab ring. "You were always there to get me out of trouble again."

A genuine smile curves the corners of Moses' mouth, eyes gentle with memories and care. Rameses tries to return the smile, but it is swamped with sadness that washes it away again. He desperately longs for the plagues to end, and for Egypt to return to how it was before. He wants to listen to Moses this time—he wants the plagues to stop, if only for things to return to how they always had been. He would be willing to do anything to see an end to the plagues so his people would not be hurt by this foreign Hebrew god any longer. _This _time, he promises himself, he would listen to Moses, who had, just minutes before, reminded him they had once been close brothers and friends. But were they now? Would they find a way out of trouble again?

Rameses places a gentle hand on Moses' shoulder, gazing back into the other's eyes.

"Why can't things be the way they were before?" he wonders, voice soft with sadness and reminiscences.

Moses' smile returns, but much softer this time, more saddened than before, as he shakes his head. The smile fades away as he sees Rameses' deep grief and longing for the closeness he once had with his brother. Rameses' head bows imperceptibly with the knowledge that things truly could not be the way they were. For a moment, there is quiet, the silence of two brothers both wishing the plagues would stop, and that things would be right again between themselves and in Egypt itself.

"It would be nice, wouldn't it?" Moses agrees wistfully, "but things have changed."

Rameses removes his hand from Moses' shoulder and lets it drop back at his side.

"They shouldn't have changed," Rameses says, a hint of sorrow in his words, "we could talk about anything before, and now…" his words trail off; he has to look away from Moses, lest his sorrow spill over. His eyes rove over the distressing scene of Seti's slaughter of the Hebrew first-borns, thrown headlong into the river without a second thought, like fishermen returning unwanted fish to the waters. He remembered all too well asking Seti about Moses' true background—and even knowing his brother was in reality a Hebrew, Rameses hadn't cared then. All he had wanted was his brother back at his side, alive and well again.

"Remember the banquet when you were pronounced Prince Regent?" Moses asks.

Rameses absent-mindedly fiddles with the ring on his finger. "You mean when I pronounced you as Chief Royal Architect?"

"You mean when I let Tzipporah fall in that pool?"

Rameses opens his mouth to retort, but stops and stares at Moses. He had wondered why the woman who had been with Moses looked so familiar. And apparently her name was Tzipporah.

"You married the desert cobra," Rameses guesses.

"Right."

Minutes before, Rameses had wanted nothing to do with Moses, the latter seeming so distant from him since returning. But now he was talking to him as though nothing happened. As though the unremitting darkness would soon lift and the sun return to the land, flooding the desert and fertile valley with light. Before, Moses refused to be reasonable, and now he was talking like they always had. As though he had never left Egypt.

Now Moses turns his gaze to the fresco of the mass murder of Hebrew first-borns.

"It was on the same night as that banquet," he recalls, "when I discovered this," Moses sweeps a hand at the painting, "and Seti told me its story."

_He told it to me too, once you ran away, _Rameses thinks, but does not speak it.

"I could have been any one of those babies, Rameses."

Rameses gasps involuntarily as the full impact of Moses' words hit him. Before, he had never really thought much of the mural, of how each one of those baby Hebrews would have by now been fully grown men—if they were lucky to escape the ravages of diseases that plagued infancy and childhood. But the idea that one of those babies could have been Moses—that had never crossed his mind. Now he tried not to imagine one of those babies being Moses. How different would the palace have been without Moses? Would King Seti and the Great Royal Wife, Tuya, have had another child, lest Rameses died before Seti?

_Thank the gods father left Moses alive. _

"What did you say?" Rameses asks, his voice hardened as he tries to hide his shock.

Moses studies his expression, the sorrow returning to his irises, "I could have been any one of the Hebrew babies."

Rameses stares at the painted babies being thrown headlong into a river saturated with blood. It ran red with blood just as it had during the first plague on Egypt. The only thing the blood had retreated from had been Moses. It had retreated from him just as it had refrained from killing him when drifting in the Nile as an infant enclosed in a basket.

_Hapy looked after Moses. Even he wanted to save one Hebrew child—a child who would be my brother. _

"Rameses?"

Moses' voice drifts back into his head. Rameses mentally shakes himself from the troubling thoughts unsettling his soul.

"I hear you, Moses," Rameses responds, still transfixed by the scene before him.

"You understand why I must free the Hebrews."

Now Rameses whirls to face his brother, hands forming fists, "You don't understand anything, Moses!" he snaps, "Nothing!"

Moses tenses, his hand tightening on his staff, "I understand very well what horror the slaves are going through."

"You didn't think this through did you, Moses?" Rameses demands, holding up a hand to stall any words from the younger, "Did you think how it would affect Egypt?"

"The city would not be built on the backs of slaves," Moses declares, "And my people would be free."

Rameses draws himself to full height; his shadow looms over Moses' on the wall beside them.

"Do you think workers will magically appear to build my city?" the pharaoh asks, "To take the slaves is to ruin the economy!"

"The economy will survive—"

"Not without the slaves it won't!" Rameses interrupts, his shoulders tensing, "It will cost much to replace the Hebrews _and_ restore the land after your God's plagues! Do you realise that without a workforce, Egypt will halt?"

"You _will _have a workforce."

"Oh, like the priests will volunteer to get their hands dirty building my monuments!" Rameses snipes, "The slaves will stay! If you are going to come here demanding the slaves to be freed, at least give me a backup plan to consider! Unless you have any ideas, this discussion is closed."

Rameses wants to stalk away again, but he catches the sight of the babies falling into the river out of the corner of his eyes. He hesitates, stalled by the reminder of what Moses had told him before. He wishes Moses would just leave him alone—he is the pharaoh, he can do what he wants!

"Rameses?"

"What."

"I don't understand."

"Understand _what_?" Rameses demands, "What is there not to understand, Moses?"

"What difference it would make to the workforce—"

Rameses faces Moses again, arms crossed over his chest. "A _huge_ difference! And unless you have a better idea on how to replace the slaves—"

"I do," Moses admits.

Rameses heaves an exasperated sigh. "Let's hear it, Moses, I don't have all…night."

However long "night" would be.

"The labourers who work the farms," Moses explains, "When it is the season of Akhet—the flooding—what are they doing then?"

"Nothing." Rameses admits.

"Nothing, Rameses?" Moses echoes, "They must have something to do."

"Not when the fields are underwater, they don't," Rameses says, but he is listening to his little brother. Maybe he would make sense for once.

"They must be bored out of their minds," Moses continues, "Perhaps they want to be useful even during the flooding—perhaps they would still wish to work in honour of pharaoh and Egypt."

Rameses ponders Moses' direction of thought. Was he suggesting he use the Egyptian farmers to build the monuments? It wasn't the same as using the Hebrews, but if it meant Moses would cease his persistence in liberating the slaves…

"You think it would work, Moses?" Rameses interrogates. "You think they would be eager to work on my monuments?"

"Absolutely—I know they will be too willing to do _something_ other than twiddle their thumbs at home. Anything for the pharaoh and his kingdom, they will leap at the chance to do. There are thousands who work on the farms across Egypt."

Rameses turns his back on the mural, pondering Moses' suggestion. If he let the Hebrews go, then he could use the labour of his own men. He knows too well how eager the peasants are to please their king—they would literally do anything.

"Only, do not enslave them," Moses says now, "They will wish to be paid."

"Not much grain to pay them now, thanks to your locusts."

"There may be grain stores around Egypt," Moses insists, "Undoubtedly, some have been unaffected by locusts. There may be barley left too."

Rameses paces, weighing up the pros and cons of letting the Hebrews go, but replacing the lost slaves with paid labour—farmers twiddling their thumbs at home during the flooding. He feels Moses' eyes watching him as he paces in thought.

_Will it be any difference if I replace the slaves with paid labour? _

"They will not rise up against you," Moses continues, "As long as they have their payments in exchange for building the monuments to pharaoh and to your other gods."

_Can he be making sense for once? Is he suggesting something that would actually work? Leave it to him to think of a solution _after_ all the damage is done! Typical Moses. _

"You know, Moses, you have a talent for coming up with an answer _after_ you get me into deep trouble," Rameses criticises, but it isn't harsh, "but I have to admit—it is a plausible idea."

Moses blinks, as though surprised Rameses had agreed after all.

"You think so?"

Despite Moses' hopefulness, Rameses will not allow him to be let off so easy.

"It's a sound idea, Moses," Rameses concedes, "but it will not happen overnight. But I will see it happens as soon and as fast as possible."

"Then…"

"_Then _your people may go."

Moses sighs, shaking his head, "It will not be soon enough."

"It will be," Rameses argues, "Your god will have to wait. I will lessen the slaves' load tomorrow and declare that all farmers will work on building projects during the season of Akhet."

"Are you just saying that, Rameses, or is this the truth?"

Rameses tries not to look at the babies falling to their doom on the horrific mural beside him. Again, he tried not to think about how different his life would have been in the palace had Moses not been saved from Seti's soldiers. Certainly, he would not be goaded into mischief, but who would race a chariot with him? The priests would offer Rameses more respect, but how boring would life be without dumping at _least_ one pot of wine on their heads? A chariot race wasn't a chariot race with just one participant!

_If Seti had killed Moses, I would not have a brother to get me into mischief, but nor would he get me out of mischief again. _

If it meant he would have his brother at his side again, even just in spirit, then he would allow the Hebrews free passage out of Egypt. He knew too well, as an Egyptian, how much his nation yearned to do something for their beloved king, the Living Image of Horus.

_If I say yes to Moses, I will see him lead the Hebrews out of Egypt…_

"If this means your god will leave me and Egypt alone…"

Moses nods, "He will leave you alone, should you say that you will let them go, and your country's first-borns will be saved. For…" a deep sigh, and regret deepens the lines on the shepherd's face, "his last plague was to be the most terrible of all. More…more than all the other nine together."

A sense of foreboding comes over Rameses. "What do you mean?"

Moses' gaze travels to the painting, before looking back at Rameses—or rather he stares at something to the left of his older brother's crown.

"Let's just say you would have lost the person most dear to you."

Rameses flinches. The person most dear to him was his son.

"You mean my son?"

"Yes," Moses confirms, his word no louder than a breath. "But only if you say you will let my people go."

_Let them go, and my farmers will be free to build me a great nation. Let them go, and my son shall be saved. _

"Moses," Rameses says, a hand on the shepherd's shoulder, "you have always gotten me in and out of trouble in our youth, and once more, you're doing it again. May your god strike me if I am not telling the truth, for I truly wish to let your people go. And I will let the Hebrews leave Egypt by your leadership."

Moses straightens his back, his eyes gazing into Rameses', "You speak the truth?"

Rameses allows himself a true, genuine smile, knowing he is out of trouble again.

"Yes, I speak the truth, Moses. You and your people have my permission to go."

A tiny voice, no doubt belonging to a child, interrupts the brothers.

"Father?"

Rameses turns and sees his son standing beneath the mural, right where the babies were falling to their diabolical demise. His son holds a flaming torch, no doubt taken down from a bracket on a wall, staring at the two men with wide, scared eyes.

"It's so dark," his son cries, "I'm frightened!"

Rameses walks over and crouches to his son's level, putting his arms around him. Then, his son spots Moses.

"Why is he here?" he demands, "Isn't that the man who did all this?"

The pharaoh stands up, but there is no malice in him anymore. He knows he has spoken the truth and that he would not break his promise to Moses and the god of the Hebrews.

"Yes, he is," Rameses confirms, "but he has done them for reasons you will understand when you are older."

"You grown-ups always tell me that!"

Rameses catches Moses' eye and both grin at the same time. Gods only knew how often _they_ had complained as such to their parents as children.

"I know," Rameses tells his son, "but you will know when you are ready to know—for now, just know that Moses has saved Egypt."

"No he hasn't."

"You will understand—"

"When I'm older, I know."

Wafting tendrils of darkness trickles out of the room, slowly replaced by what seems to be dustings of sunlight.

"What are you doing, Moses?" Rameses asks, arching an eyebrow.

Moses tilts his head in the direction of the entrance, "You have to come see this for yourself, Rameses."

* * *

He cannot believe his eyes when he discovers what is happening outside. The darkness is literally billowing away in great, thick clouds, exposing the glorious sapphire-hued sky above. Rays of sunshine burst over the clouds, stretching to embrace the palace and all of Egypt. The warmth of the sun hugs Rameses, Rameses' son, and Moses. The pharaoh tilts his head back, closing his eyes to savour the wonderful heat and sunshine that has at last returned to Egypt. His son should not be frightened anymore—and nor would he die of any plague the Hebrew god would bring upon Egypt. He inhales deeply, as though he might breathe in the blessed light that now holds Egypt to its bosom once more. The pharaoh doesn't need to open his eyes to know that Moses is at his side, like the loyal brother he always had been. Knowing that he was so close to having never grown up with him at his side, he appreciated his presence so much more.

_Thank you, God of the Hebrews, for watching over my little brother. Thank you. _

* * *

"_But then…you were always there to get me out of trouble again."_


End file.
